


The Gingerbread House

by unfolded73



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-07-04
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: Rose and the Doctor enter a new phase of their relationship -- coauthored with fid_gin. THIS IS AN UNFINISHED FIC THAT WE WILL NEVER COMPLETE. Archiving it here, that's all.
Relationships: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an experiment in unplanned, collaborative fiction. With very little discussion behind the scenes, fid_gin and I wrote alternating chapters of this story. We only made it 5 chapters, which shows the value of planning, frankly.

“You look scary,” he commented as he sauntered into the kitchen.

Rose looked up from where she was spreading jam on a piece of toast at the counter and smiled. “Good.” She stuck the toe of one high-heeled shoe, a perfect match for her power suit, and examined it. “Scary is sort of what I was going for.”

“Where are you off to dressed like that?” the Doctor asked, scrubbing a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and yawning. He got his favourite mug down from the cabinet and prepared to make a cup of tea.

“I have to go with Dad to a Vitex board meeting,” Rose answered around a mouthful of toast. 

The Doctor made a face, his tongue sticking all the way out in an exaggerated ‘blech’ expression. “Sorry about that. Although better you than me.”

“That sort of goes without saying,” Rose said, elbowing him in the ribs. 

“I’m gonna see if I can get that Vr’trellian scanner working, I think,” he said, referring to one of Torchwood’s latest acquisitions of alien technology. “Trouble is, I don’t know how I’m going to charge the power supply, because this planet doesn’t have—”

“Doctor, can you …” Rose cleared her throat, smiling a small, apologetic smile for interrupting him. “Sorry, it’s just … I need to tell you …”

At the sight of the serious expression on Rose’s face, all thoughts of the Vr’trellian scanner drained out of head. “What is it, Rose?”

“I’m late.”

“What time’s the meeting? If it’s eight, you’ve got plenty of time.”

“Not for the meeting. I’m _late_.”

“What are you late for?”

Rose made a frustrated half-groan. “My _period_ is late. You know, menstruation? That thing women of child-bearing age do once a month?”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, _oh_.”

“But you take those little pills.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain probability to you, Doctor. They aren’t 100% effective.”

“No, I know. Sorry, I just …” He ran a hand through his hair again, swallowing on a suddenly dry mouth. “How late?”

“About a day and a half.”

He laughed with relief. “Well, that’s nothing to worry about. As I understand it, the standard deviation of the length of the human female menstrual cycle is—”

“But like you said, I take those little pills. I’m _very_ regular. I can practically set my watch by it.”

“That’s … okay, that’s a good point.” 

“I mean, you’re probably right, it’s probably just stress or something.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve gotta go, or I _am_ gonna be late for the meeting.”

He felt dizzy, and not a little bit thrown, and he desperately didn’t want her to go. “So, you tell me this _now_ and just, just …” The Doctor gestured vaguely.

Rose looked at him sympathetically. “Yeah, this wasn’t my best plan, I realize that. I wasn’t gonna say anything yet, but …” Her eyes implored him to understand.

“But you didn’t want to be the only one wondering.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” She busied herself with collecting her laptop bag and keys and purse. “I’ll be back at around –”

He stopped her with a kiss, and not a brief, see-you-later kiss. The Doctor pulled her close, opening his mouth against hers and tasting her thoroughly with his tongue. His thoughts were chaotic, and the only thing he knew he could get a fix on at the moment was how much he adored this woman.

“I love you,” the Doctor said, pouring all his riotous emotions into those words. 

“I can tell,” Rose said, smiling and looking a little less worried. “I’ll see you tonight, all right?”

“Yeah.” He felt like he should say something more, something about her state of potentially pregnant/not-pregnant. _Schrödinger’s embryo_ , he thought, and had to stifle a giggle. But before he could think of the brilliant insight that would make everything clear and simple, Rose was out the door.

By the time Rose returned to the flat that evening, the Doctor had determined that it had been the longest day of his life. At least, of the life he’d led since spawning from a hand in a jar eight months previous. All the while he’d been eating, or drinking tea, or driving over to his Torchwood laboratory, or tinkering with his latest project, he’d been mulling over what Rose had told him. Wondering how she would feel if she turned out to be pregnant. Wondering how _he_ would feel. Wondering if Jackie would slap him or hug him when they told her. Both, he decided. It was the only thing he pondered that day that he felt certain about.

Rose plopped down on the sofa across from where he had the coffee table covered in tiny electronic parts. He took off his specs and met her eyes.

“So, false alarm, as it turns out.”

“What?”

Rose laughed mirthlessly. “Here I thought you’d spent the day worrying about it, but I guess not. I’m not pregnant. Just a little late this month for some reason.”

The Doctor felt his heart sink, and was surprised by the intensity of his own reaction. “I _did_ spend the day ... well, not _worrying_ , precisely, but thinking about it.”

She sighed. “Me too.”

Dropping his glasses and standing up, the Doctor walked over and sat down next to her. He pulled Rose into his arms and she went willingly, her head pillowing against his chest. After a long time, he asked, unsure if he wanted the answer: “Were you relieved?”

“I should be. I should be relieved. We aren’t ready to have children; it’s way too soon, it hasn’t even been a year yet.”

He brushed his lips over her hair. “But?”

“But I felt like I’d lost something, like an opportunity had just slipped through my fingers,” she whispered.

“There will be more opportunities.”

Rose lifted her head. “I know, of course there will be. And it’s not like this is some epiphany, where I go, ‘Doctor, let’s make a baby,’ you know? I still believe it’s too soon. So why am I so ... sad?”

He thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose I could say it’s because we’re slaves to our biology. Reproducing is sort of the point of it all, and for a species as short-lived as yours – ours,” he corrected, “it’s a powerful force.” He felt the impulse to touch her, so he put his palm against her cheek, the pads of his fingers stroking her forehead. “But all logic aside, there’s something that’s very arresting about the idea of making love to you and that act leading to a child,” he murmured. 

Rose shivered. “Yeah.” She leaned close and kissed him, her lips wet and soft against his. The Doctor tightened his arm around her, returning her kisses and enjoying the slow burn of his rising desire for her. After a long time, she broke the kiss and ran the tip of her nose along the side of his. “Thank you,” she rasped, letting their foreheads rest against each other.

“Better?”

“A bit. Wish the emotional turmoil didn’t have to be punctuated with cramps,” she said, her hand drifting to her abdomen. 

“Why don’t you go put on your jim-jams and I’ll bring you some soup and a cuppa, hmm?” 

Rose grinned. “You’d do well to remind me of this moment the next time you blow something up inside the house,” she said. “Because right now, you are pretty much the perfect man.”

“I’m _always_ the perfect man, Rose,” he smirked, his finger pointed at her, “and you’d do well to remember it.”

“Dream on, ego boy.”

“Listen, I was thinking ...” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to articulate one of the things that had gone round and round in his mind that morning. “I once called parallel worlds gingerbread houses, d’you remember?”

“Course I do. You didn’t want me chasing after the alternate versions of my parents and getting into trouble.”

“Right. Well, _that_ and I was terrified that you’d leave me,” the Doctor admitted, smiling as he often did when he confessed to a vulnerability he’d had when he was the Time Lord. He imagined the other man writhing in agony at the thought of all the things he’d shared with Rose over the last eight months. 

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Rose said dryly, heading back toward their bedroom. “Anyway, what about it?”

The Doctor followed her down the hallway. “The thing about gingerbread houses are, sometimes they’re just a tasty treat and there’s no witch waiting to cook and eat you.”

“Is that supposed to make any kind of sense, Doctor?”

He gestured excitedly. “If there was one thing that was bothering me about the idea of having a child with you this soon, it was that we have so much left to do, and I want to do more of it when it’s just the two of us. And when we’re still young and spry.”

“Spry?” Rose laughed, unzipping her skirt and dropping it to the floor. 

“Look, for a long time, I felt like I needed to prove to you that I was capable of sharing my life with you. That I was capable of living a semi-normal human life without bolting and running.”

“You didn’t need to prove anything to me,” she protested.

“Yes, I did. And even if I didn’t, I think I needed to prove it to myself.” 

Rose’s brow wrinkled. “Is that why you’ve been so willing to do all the domestic stuff? Because you thought I _wanted_ you to? You don’t have to change who you are for me, you know.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I mean, I changed who I was to an extent because I _changed who I was_. Part of me wants the domestic stuff sometimes. That in and of itself is an adventure, and I enjoy it.”

Rose pulled a T-shirt over her head. “You could enjoy anything,” she said, her voice muffled.

“How would you feel about going on an extended trip?” he asked. “Close up the flat, forget about Torchwood and Vitex and all of that for a while, and just travel.”

She was silent for a moment. “I’d have to talk to Mum and Dad.”

“Of course.” He approached her, taking both of her hands in his. “But you’d want to?”

“We’ll probably get into all sorts of trouble,” she said with a sly grin.

“Well, yeah, that’s half the fun, remember?”

Rose’s laugh was full-throated. “When do we leave?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Hints of cherry, cedar, clove and chocolate...”

Rose tuned out the perky American woman's voice, held her pinky finger out and delicately sipped from her wine glass, tasting none of those things. In her opinion, wine tasted like wine: warm and rich and alcoholic, sometimes sweet or sour, but certainly no cherries or chocolate. She could see how this particular bottle might taste nice with those things, though, and pondered buying a bottle for herself and the Doctor to take up to their room later and sip leisurely while nibbling on the fruit and dessert tray which had come with their room package.

After their conversation back home about taking an extended trip, they'd found themselves unable to agree on a starting point. The Doctor had rejected Rose's suggestions of Australia or the Caribbean and substituted such daft ideas of his own as Russia, Antarctica and Iceland (“Why do they all have to be cold?” she'd asked, to which he'd launched in a long and boring lecture about how Iceland was green and Greenland was icy that had gone on for a good ten minutes before he'd noticed from her expression that she wasn't interested in travelling to either), and had finally left and returned with a package of darts and a poster of a map of the world. His first throw had landed well off the map, and with a quick joke about them sailing off the edge of the map and being attacked by sea monsters, another throw had landed perfectly on the west coast of the United States.

Rose had whooped with joy until she saw specifically where the dart had landed. “Couldn't have hit California, could you?” she'd grumbled. “Had to be somewhere where it rains all the time.”

“Ah, but! Because it rains so much, the Pacific Northwest is also one of the most beautiful areas in the world! It's actually technically a rain forest.”

She did have to admit, flying into the airport over a seemingly never ending sprawl of green forests punctuated by brown quilt patches of farmland and blue and white veins of rivers, that it did look very lovely. Peaceful. The taxi driver who'd picked them up from the airport had driven them to a local posh hotel and vineyard he'd recommended, and after dropping their luggage off in their room (“There's no loo!” Rose had shrieked. “It's 'European style'. The bathrooms are down the hall,” the Doctor had answered, and she'd made some comment about how _this_ European wanted her own toilet and shower, thank you very much) they'd retired to the cellar for wine tasting. Rose could feel her exhaustion descending on her quickly, aided by the alcohol and the damp, and the darkly lit room with its candles and stacks of wine barrels.

She was startled from her reverie by a slight gurgling noise next to her, and turned to see the Doctor, eyes rolled skyward thoughtfully, lips pursed and mouth slightly open, inhaling slowly. “You're s'posed to drink it, not gargle it,” she said, and at that he closed his mouth and swallowed, closing his eyes briefly in apparent pleasure.

“No, you're supposed to _taste_ it,” he replied. “You have to aspirate it to allow the flavours to reach the nose.”

Rose grinned at him. “You're a wine snob!”

“Am not,” the Doctor said shrilly, absentmindedly swirling the wine left in his glass even as he spoke. He thought for a moment longer before gulping down the last swallow, then added: “Wine _enthusiast_ , maybe.” The woman came back with clean glasses for both of them and poured a splash from a bottle of Chardonnay, this time talking about “Notes of apricot and melon.”

“She's making me hungry,” Rose muttered while the Doctor continued with his sucking-slurping-aspirating thing.

“Fair point. Shall we sample the local cuisine?” he asked, after swallowing audibly. “I hear the fish and chips here are brilliant. Sorry – _fries_.” He looked troubled. “They _will_ still have vinegar available, won't they?”

They walked hand-in-hand through the darkened gardens after they'd eaten, the path lit by flames from ornately decorated metal lamps. Rose was acutely aware, full of fresh fish and a pint of ale from the on-site brewery, that it would be well past midnight back home and she was more tired than she could remember being since she'd hopped across dimensions to get back to the Doctor.

Still there was something which was confusing her which she wanted to ask him about, but was unsure of how to put it into the right words. “Doctor?” she asked finally. He made a humming noise of acknowledgment. “How'd you know to do that assimilating thing with the wine?”

“Aspirating,” he corrected. “And it's not like you humans have the market cornered on fermented beverages, you know.”

She shrugged as they continued to walk. “Just seems like a really human thing to know how to do, that's all.” She felt him glancing over at her.

“Does that bother you?” There was a nervous edge to his voice. “Am I too human for you?” The vulnerability behind this question made her want to grab him, cradle him, reassure him somehow.

“No! That's not it at all.” Rose struggled. “It's just since...since we came back to this universe,” she started. The subject of the other Doctor and how he had brought ( _left_ , her mind hissed, unbidden) them to this world was a delicate one. “Since then I've just noticed all these things you can do that, for some reason, I never pictured you being able to. Cook and clean, domestic stuff, like you said. Are they things you've always known how to do? Or did they just kind of appear after...?” Her voice trailed off.

He was silent for so long she thought maybe he wasn't going to answer. “Like an instinct?” he asked finally.

“Yeah!” she said, grateful he'd found the right word.

“Where's this coming from?” he asked.

Rose shrugged. “Don't know. Guess it's just, stepping outside our lives for a minute.”

“If you're asking whether I woke up after the metacrisis with the sudden, ingrained knowledge of how to cook a roast or change a bin liner, the answer is no.” She detected a bitter note in his voice. “Just because I was, _am_ an alien, doesn't mean I have no knowledge of Earth customs or basic survival skills, Rose.”

Dropping his hand, she whirled on him suddenly. “Then what's this all about?” The Doctor looked shocked, and Rose herself was a bit surprised at the ferocity in her voice. “You say there's so much we have left to do while we're young, but you've already done it all! How'm I supposed to make you better when you're still the one leading me around, teaching me about Greenland and the Pacific Northwest and the proper way to taste wine? Guess neither of you ever thought of _that_.”

The Doctor was fumbling for her hand again. “Rose...”

“You had a wife and kids before too, even though you never talk about them,” she continued. “I can't even give you that.” Her voice was tremulous with sudden tears that were threatening to spill over, she realized, and hardened herself, drawing her lips into a thin line. “Eight months now I've been trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do, what he thought I could offer you that you haven't... What is it, Doctor? What's in _your_ gingerbread house?”

She stared at him for a long moment, either waiting for a response or in astonishment at her own words, she wasn't sure. Something that may have been anger, or hurt, flitted for a moment behind his large brown eyes. Either way she knew she owed him an apology.

“Sorry,” she said, looking down. “I'm just tired. I didn't mean...”

The Doctor smiled softly and, she thought, cautiously. “Travelling by plane's a bit more taxing than by TARDIS, isn't it?” She nodded, unaware that a tear had rolled down her face until he stepped forward and caught it, wiped it away with his thumb.

“I don't know,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “I really don't. All I know is that I want to find out with you.”

“I feel like I'm failing,” she said suddenly. “I meant it when I said I don't want you to change, but I should be able to offer you something to make it worth it that you have. I feel like I was supposed to show you this amazing life, or how special it is to be human or something, and what have I done? Given you walls, and carpet, and a job and all those things you hate, and a girlfriend who gets jet lag and who doesn't know how to taste wine...” Her sentence was cut off as the Doctor kissed her, long and deep, his hands on the sides of her face. She tasted the vinegar he'd had to ask for twice at the brewpub, heard sounds in the silence which swelled around them – insects chirruping, a train whistle in the distance, sounds of music and laughing guests echoing from the balconies of the grand hotel further back down the path. When he finally broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, she felt she could hardly breathe.

“The proper way to taste wine,” he whispered, “is off of your lover's skin. Now we have a bottle of 2007 Cabernet Sauvignon back in the room...” He licked his lips, and Rose's knees went just a bit weak. “Notes of anise and cola,” he added, one side of his mouth quirking up in half a smile. He tipped his head in the direction of the way they'd come, back toward the hotel and their room. “Come with me.” It wasn't a question, Rose noticed.


	3. Chapter 3

“If you just want to go to sleep—” the Doctor started to say, padding barefoot across the Oriental rug in their hotel bedroom, wine bottle in one hand and glasses in the other.

“Shut it,” Rose said, reaching behind her back to remove her bra. She still felt fragile from the jet lag and her earlier outburst, but the Doctor clearly wasn’t cross with her, and she decided to table the things she’d said for a time when she had a clearer head. 

He smiled, uncorking the bottle with his sonic screwdriver and pouring some of the dark ruby wine into two glasses while he loosened his tie. 

“Of course, you might be tempting fate by giving me more alcohol,” Rose amended even as she accepted one of the glasses. “I could fall asleep in a compromising position. And I’d hate for you to take it as a referendum on your skills in bed.”

The Doctor was unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it untucked from his trousers as he did so. “Eight months, Rose. I’m fairly confident about my skills in bed.”

She was kicking off her own trousers, standing at the edge of the bed, and letting her wine come dangerously close to sloshing over the edge of the glass onto the floor. “Are you, now?” She’d taken care with the knickers she’d put on, and she watched with satisfaction as the Doctor’s eyes drifted down to the lacy, black triangle at the apex of her thighs.

“Oh yes.” He dropped his trousers and pants in one go, leaving himself naked and aroused before her. He picked up his wineglass from the nightstand and stepped very close to her, close enough that she could feel his erection against the bare skin of her belly. The Doctor clinked his glass against the one she still held. “To us,” he said, his voice husky.

“To us,” she repeated. As she watched, breathless, he took a drink from his glass and bent to kiss her. It was unhesitating and full of passion, and the taste of his mouth mingled with the wine made her feel even more light-headed than she already was. When he finally pulled away, Rose was panting, and she took a drink of her own wine to regain a measure of control.

Soon the Doctor’s mouth was on her again – her neck, her shoulder and collarbone. His free hand drifted down to the thin strap across her hipbone, fingers fumbling. “Lie down,” he said finally.

Rose did as she was told. Perhaps in part due to exhaustion, she was feeling submissive and was happy to let him take the lead this time. Leaning back against the heaps of pillows, Rose drank her wine and watched the Doctor as he looked her up and down. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he decided what he wanted to do first. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned over and kissed her again, his mouth all wet heat and his tongue tasting her. For a long time he did nothing but kiss her, didn’t even touch her, and Rose squirmed below him in frustration. Eventually, she reached over and took his cock in her hand, squeezing and eliciting a muffled groan against her mouth. She stroked him, kissing him harder, and images flashed in her brain of pushing him down onto the bed, taking him inside her and fucking him senseless. She smiled to herself; there was a reason she was usually the dominant one in bed. Rose resisted the impulse and remained reclining on the pillows, even stopped touching him.

“I thought you said something about tasting wine off your lover’s skin,” she reminded him.

The Doctor just hummed in response, pulling back to flash her one of his sexiest half-smiles. It was a deadly weapon, that smile, she’d thought so since the first time she saw it on a Christmas night so long ago. Dipping a finger into his wine, he stuck it into his mouth. She could see his tongue swirl around the digit before he pulled it out with a pop and put it back into his glass, coating it again with the red liquid. This time, he brought the finger to her nipple, swirling it around the sensitive skin. The evaporating wine made her nipple harden further, and she shivered at the sensation. The Doctor leaned over, taking the hardening flesh into his mouth and sucking firmly. Rose gasped, arching her back and squeezing her eyes shut. She was only just beginning to realize what she was in for.

He repeated the action a few times on each side, sometimes raking his tongue under the swell of her breast before taking her nipple into his mouth again, seeming to savour her more than he had the wine. Rose moaned softly, threading the fingers of one hand into his hair and leaning up to kiss the soft strands on top of his head.

“You’re delicious,” the Doctor muttered, licking and kissing his way down her stomach. He had set his wineglass aside finally, and he looped his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down her legs and off. She set her wine down as well. He positioned himself between her thighs, spreading her knees and inhaling. It still made her slightly self-conscious, how much he so obviously enjoyed the smell and taste of her. 

His tongue traced a path up the inside of her thigh and Rose’s heartbeat sped up, anticipating the pleasure he was about to give her. He started by touching her clit so very gently with the tip of his tongue; had it been any other spot on her body she might not have felt it at all. Every time he touched her it was a little spark, making her twitch. She felt his long fingers press against the insides of her thighs, opening her wider for him. When his tongue delved deeper into her, kissing her, tasting her with long licks, Rose moaned wordlessly. 

She lost track of time. Every now and then the Doctor would groan in the back of his throat, probably enjoying what he was doing almost as much as she was. He was relentless, and when she started to get close, she threaded her fingers into his hair again, clutching and pulling. She was crying out, unable to stop herself, because it felt too amazing, everything he did to her felt too amazing and then she fell, spasming and screaming in ecstasy.

When Rose finally let her legs relax and opened her eyes, it was to see the Doctor on his knees above her, swirling wine in his mouth again. She giggled. “Do I pair well with the wine, Doctor?”

He swallowed. “Try it for yourself.” And he leaned over, kissing her, sliding his tongue alongside hers. 

When their lips parted and the Doctor sat back up on his knees, Rose eyed him askance. “Kinky,” she said. 

His answer was to click his tongue against his teeth and grin. Rose rolled her eyes. “Come here, further up the bed,” she said. The Doctor walked forward on his knees, straddling her abdomen.

Before he could say anything, she took the wineglass out of his hand and drank from it, then leaned forward and swallowed his cock in one smooth motion. He made a garbled sound of surprise and lust.

Propping herself up on one hand, Rose sucked him in earnest, drawing back and swirling her tongue around the head before taking him deep again. She felt the glass taken out of her hand and heard the clink of it being set down on the nightstand, and she was impressed that the Doctor had the wherewithal to manage that in the midst of receiving a blowjob. Her other hand now free, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, following each movement of her mouth with a stroke and squeeze of her fist. 

The Doctor’s hands settled gently on the back of her head, his fingers combing her hair. It had taken a long time before Rose had been able to convince him that she liked his hands there while she sucked him off; he had always been timid about anything approaching restraining her, and it had taken picking up his hands and putting them on her head before he got the idea. 

She began to move faster with her hand and mouth and felt his cock get harder under her lips. He was breathing audibly, then grunting through clenched teeth, and she felt his hips start to move with the rhythm she had set. Rose was half-sitting up in order to be level with his groin, and it was starting to hurt her back a bit, but she didn’t want to let up, not if he was getting close.

“Rose … ah …don’t stop, don’t stop … I’m gonna …” She felt him pulse, tasted his come in the back of her throat, and she swallowed, gradually slowing her movements as he continued to pump his hips. When she felt certain he was done, she pulled away, swallowing again. The Doctor was leaning forward onto the headboard of the bed, panting through his open mouth. 

Twisting, Rose reached again for one of the wineglasses and drank, making a show of aspirating the wine the way the Doctor had earlier before swallowing it. The Doctor watched her with one eyebrow raised. When she volunteered nothing, he finally said, “Well?”

Rose shrugged, trying not to snicker. “Would have gone better with the Riesling, I think.”

He barked out a laugh. “Now who’s the wine snob?”

*** 

The Doctor awoke and glanced at the red numbers on the clock on the nightstand. 04:13. He rolled over, and was surprised to see the other side of the bed empty. Propping himself up on his elbows, he saw Rose wrapped up in her dressing gown, sitting under a dim lamp in one of the room’s two chairs, reading. 

“That’s a switch,” he said, “Usually it’s me up reading at all hours of the night.”

Rose looked up at him and shrugged. “It’s the middle of the day at home. My body wouldn’t sleep more than a few hours.” Dropping her book, she shrugged out of her dressing gown and climbed back under the covers with him. The Doctor pulled her close, enjoying the feeling of her skin against his, even if he was still fairly well sated from earlier.

“I’m sorry about before,” she said. “About yelling at you. I’m still not sure what that was about.” 

He rubbed her arm up and down. “Don’t worry about it. I know it can’t be easy sometimes, living with me.”

The Doctor felt her tense. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t talk about yourself like you’re some charity case that I took in out of the goodness of my heart. It’s not like that.” Rose said.

“It was a little bit like that, at first,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I _did_ have to adjust to the idea that you were as much the Doctor as … but I did, yeah?” She touched his face. “I’m with you because I want to be. Because you’re the love of my life. You have to believe me.”

“I do.” He kissed her gently. “Of course I do.”

“When I thought I might be pregnant …” Her eyes met his, and she seemed to be searching for something. “Yeah, I was worried about what it would do to our lives, and our relationship, and my job. But I never thought it was a bad thing, not really.” She hugged him tightly, nuzzling his neck. “I’m in this for the long haul with you, you daft alien.”

The Doctor held Rose until she had drifted off. He stared up at the mural painted on the ceiling, and sleep didn’t come for him for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor finally nodded off as the sun began to rise, and when he woke a few hours later he woke slowly, swimming upward through a furry, white fugue until there he was, opening eyes to calming grey daylight and a room which was chilly but not uncomfortably so. He thought he could smell water...the Colombia River, perhaps, and maybe faintly beneath that the salt of the ocean. Sitting up in bed for a moment and turning toward the windows, he saw that it was actually rain he was smelling, and snuggled back down into the blankets, humming contentedly.

Reaching for Rose and finding only an empty patch of still-warm mattress instead, he was finally jerked fully awake. He had just enough time to wonder where she'd gone before the door to their room clicked open and she stepped through, her hair damp and raindrops on her cheeks.

“You were right,” she admitted, a bit breathlessly. “It is pretty here. It's like the rain is...I don't know, fresher than back home?”

“You were walking in the rain?” the Doctor asked, marvelling for a moment at this mad, beautiful woman standing before him, clutching his long coat over her flimsy pyjamas. They'd had the coat made special for him a month or so after they'd returned from the other universe, and she looked, in his opinion, sexy as hell in it.

Rose smiled. “Had to use the _European_ facilities, thought I'd step outside while I was at that end of the building.” The Doctor stretched – a full body stretch from his toes to his wrists, slipping the covers slightly askew off of his arms and chest and one bare leg, and he happily noted the hungry look in Rose's eyes as she watched him do so. “What's the plan for today, then? Assuming you're not just going to stay in bed all day.”

“Might do,” he yawned, folding his arms back behind his head. “That's what holidays...that's what places like _this_ , are for! Did you know...” His voice died suddenly. He was doing it again, he realized.

It had shocked him at the time, her explosion the night before, and yet it had also strangely relieved him. In the eight months since the other Doctor had delivered them to Bad Wolf Bay there had been tears. There had been bad dreams and sleepless nights. There had been long, careful talks which were both open and intricately guarded. But, the Doctor was aware, there had never been shouting, or rage, or blame. Perhaps there should have been, he thought.

The Doctor's feelings about the events of that day so many months ago were complicated and, like Rose had said the day before, easy not to confront while deep under the spell of the life they had built for themselves since. He hadn't quite forgiven the other Doctor for so thoroughly breaking Rose's heart and accusing him of being a genocidal maniac, but he hadn't hated him for some time either. Mostly he felt sorry for him, and this is what he projected those rare moments when he let his mental shields down and wondered whether that tiny tickle in his mind was the beginning of a headache or something more. A Time Lord maybe, the last Time Lord, on the other side of a breach which, while not traversable, would perhaps never heal completely? _I'm sorry_ , he would think in these moments. _I'm so sorry._

But he was moving on, he was healing, and he had thought Rose was too. Now he wasn't so sure. Things had progressed quickly between them back then, and the Doctor wondered if she had ever really allowed herself to address the fact that even though he was here with her, he was also the man who had lost her and then left her, and that she probably despised him just a little bit for it.

Rose was staring at him curiously, he realized, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Today, Rose Tyler,” he said in a booming, expansive voice which made him feel delightfully ridiculous given his current naked state, “we are going to do something you want to do. Something human.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?” He patted the edge of the bed next to his thigh, and she sat down tentatively, looking apprehensive.

“Want to stay in bed all day? We'll stay in bed all day. Want to walk through the rain in our underwear? Then that's what we'll do.” Pulling her toward him, he rolled her under his body and lost most of his blankets in the process, his bare bum pointing toward the ceiling. “Tell me, Rose,” he spoke down at her. “You wanted to know what you can offer me?” He pressed a line of kisses in a trail up her neck. “Offer me the chance to do something for you that you've always wanted but never asked for.”

Rose bit her tongue and smiled, wriggling out from underneath him. She gently pushed on his shoulder, guiding him onto his back again. “Stay right there,” she instructed, and stood to walk over to where their bags lay in a heap near the wardrobe. Unable to keep still, he pushed up on elbow and watched her bottom, the way the silk of her pyjama trousers slid over the curves of it as she walked away. The thought that among the previous evening's pleasures had not been actual intercourse occurred to him at the same time as the realization that he was still very much naked and she nearly was, and he felt the familiar warm flutter of arousal low in his belly and groin as his cock stirred. God, he loved morning sex.

His growing lust was replaced with confusion when she turned back to him with her camera in her hand and he heard the nearly inaudible high-pitched whine of it powering on.

“One thing I wished,” she began, looking down into the view screen as she scrolled through the photos she'd already taken from the plane, “after I was first trapped here, without you, was that I'd had a picture of you. I was afraid...that after years and years I'd start to forget what you looked like. How you smiled, the way your left eyebrow goes up. Your eyes.”

“But you _have_ pictures of me,” he said, thinking specifically of the enlarged portrait on their wall at home which Jackie had snapped at Halloween, him dressed as a mad scientist and Rose as his creation.

“The _other_ thing I wished,” she continued as though she hadn't heard him, “was that I'd gotten to see you naked.” Now she did look up from the camera and met his eyes with her own.

The Doctor swallowed. “Ah.”

“'Course, I wished that even before I got lost,” she went on, circling the bed. “I used to go to bed on the TARDIS and imagine you somewhere else in the ship getting changed or taking a shower, and I'd wonder what you looked like. If you had any...alien bits.”

“Well, being from another planet I suppose you could say that _all_ of my bits are alien.”

“Shut up,” she said, her lip trembling as she suppressed a grin.

“So now you've seen my bits,” he said, glancing downward to where the blankets covered an unmistakable bulge at about hip-level. “Are you disappointed?”

Rose shook her head No, and held the camera up demonstratively. “I want a picture of you.”

“Naked?!” he squeaked, giving a huge grin. “You minx!”

“It's a way I never thought I'd see you. I need to...immortalize it?” She tapped the camera, her expression expectant.

The Doctor considered her for a moment. “How do you want me?” he asked finally, one half of his mouth curling in a suggestive smirk.

“On your back,” she said, and he complied, flopping backwards. “One arm behind your head.” He did as she said, leaving the other arm draped across his abdomen. Rose moved to the side of the bed. “Turn your head to the side a bit and tilt your chin up.”

“I didn't think it was my Adam's apple you were interested in photographing,” he joked, doing as she said.

“We'll get to that,” she promised, bring the lens up to her face. “You have a lovely neck, and the white pillowcase brings out your freckles. Now close your eyes.”

The silence in the room was suddenly deafening as he did as she advised and waited for the exaggerated shutter noise of the digital camera. He was aware that he was breathing heavily, and a bit nervous. Hundreds of years of space and time travel, and this was something new.

_Click._

He kept his eyes closed as he heard her move around to the end of the bed and felt the duvet and bedsheets yanked down and off of him. That nervousness washed over him again. He was hard, the slight chill in the room heightening his excitement rather than discouraging it, and while it was true that he had been nude in front of Rose many, many times, he had never felt more bared to her than he did at this moment.

“Lovely,” she said softly, as though she could read his thoughts. Her voice resumed its detached, instructional tone. “Put both your arms over your head.” He did so, feeling his torso elongate and his ribcage stick out.

_Click._

There was a soft rustling noise, then the mattress dipped as she climbed onto it, crawling up over his body. The Doctor realized, feeling her smooth thighs brush against his own, that she had removed her pyjama bottoms. She straddled his stomach, the soft crinkle of her pubic hair resting just above his belly button. “Open your eyes.”

His eyelids fluttered open, and he saw Rose looking down at him, a gentle smile on her face. She brought the camera up once more and he stared up into it, unflinching, as she snapped his picture one more time. After it had clicked and saved, she set the camera aside. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“You'll have to tell me after it's my turn to take pictures of you,” he answered, bringing his arms down to run his hands up the front of her nightshirt. Cupping her breasts, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples where they stood out hard against the silky material, and she moaned and pushed against his hands. Licking her palm, she reached behind her and gripped his cock, and he hissed at the sensation of her moist fingers wrapped around him, stroking him, the wetness of her saliva cooling quickly in the open air but leaving him slick. Moving her body back down his torso, she reached between them and guided him inside.

They moved slowly, the antique bed frame creaking slightly beneath them as Rose rode him, her palms flat against his stomach. The thick cotton-and-mascara colour scheme of the rainy day outside shone through the window behind her, and her hair seemed to glow with it. She came quietly but hard, her hips bucking violently as she threw her head back, the column of her throat working with her hitching breaths, and he followed her minutes later, a muffled groan escaped from between his clenched teeth.

She collapsed next to him, pushing her hair back her damp forehead. “What was that you said about staying in bed all day?” she asked, a little out of breath, and he chuckled softly in response.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose sat in her hard, uncomfortable seat and shivered. “Why are we here again?”

“Why are we _here_?” The Doctor looked at her with no small amount of surprise. “Baseball, Rose! The great American pastime! How could we travel to the United States during the summer without coming to a baseball game?” He cracked open a peanut with relish and tossed it up into the air, catching it in his open mouth.

“Doesn’t feel all that much like summertime just now,” Rose grumbled, rubbing her bare arms in an attempt to warm them up.

“Yeah, brisk winds come in off of San Francisco Bay,” he said, gesturing out over the water visible from their seats. He eyed her choice of clothing. “I probably should have said something back at the hotel.”

“Do you _think_?” she said scathingly.

“Here.” The Doctor stood and shucked off his overcoat, handing it over to her. “Sorry about that.”

Rose accepted the coat. “At least you’ve picked up a little bit of chivalry since I walked ten miles of the Scottish highlands in a T-shirt and short skirt,” she mumbled as she pulled the coat around her. The Doctor looked at her blankly. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Well, if you were cold, you could’ve said,” he replied in defense. 

Rose just rolled her eyes and looked back at the field. She couldn’t follow what was going on, and whatever it was, it seemed to be going on very slowly. “Why does he take so long to throw the bleeding ball?”

“The pitcher is shaking off signs from the catcher,” the Doctor explained in his pedantic way. “Also, he’s trying to keep the man on first close to the bag.”

Rose turned and stared at him. “All the words were English, and yet that made no sense whatsoever.” She held up a hand before he could elaborate. “Don’t worry about it, I’m happy in my ignorance of the great American pastime.”

“Funny though, the Cubs being so successful in this universe,” he said, referring to the visiting team. The San Francisco Giants were losing to them 5-0, Rose noted. “I wonder what made the difference. I’ll have to research it at some point.”

“Could just be random chance,” Rose said.

“Could be,” the Doctor conceded. “But I like to understand as many of the differences between this universe and the other as I can. Makes me feel more prepared.” The Doctor stared into the middle distance for a few seconds, then shook himself out of it just as quickly. “Hot dogs!” he shouted out of nowhere. “Here it is the third inning, and we still haven’t had hot dogs! Back in a moment, darling.” He kissed her on the cheek and then bounded up out of his seat.

Rose watched him trot down the stairs, his long legs looking more likely to trip him up that to carry him with any degree of grace. Incongruously, her heart seized with love for him at that moment, in spite of her current state of chill and boredom.

“You’re English,” came a voice to her left. Rose turned to the man sitting next to her. She’d vaguely taken note of him and his girlfriend when they sat down, then had promptly forgotten them. He was about her age, in a Giants cap, T-shirt, and jeans. The girlfriend was nowhere to be seen; probably had gone to the loo, Rose thought.

“Yes.”

“First time at a major league game?” he asked, giving her a flirtatious smile that reminded her of Jack. Perhaps it was just the accent. He wasn’t bad looking, this bloke, but he wasn’t in Jack’s league.

“Yeah. My … boyfriend was keen on seeing one,” she explained. “I’ll confess I don’t follow it.”

“No worries,” he said easily. “What brings you to San Francisco?”

“We’re just travelling,” Rose said, the words coming to her lips easily, as they once had dozens of times on dozens of different planets. “We rented a car up in Portland, and now we’re just driving down the coast.”

“’Til you get to Mexico?”

“Maybe. Until we decide to do something else.”

The man laughed. “Sounds like a blast. I’m Marty, by the way.” 

“Rose.” His handshake was warm and firm, and he looked at her the way men sometimes did, with an open and somewhat lustful admiration. It had been a long time since she’d been interested in such glances as anything more than the ego boost that they provided.

They made small talk until Marty’s girlfriend returned, texting on her mobile phone and shooting Rose a dirty look. Shortly after, the Doctor came back, weighted down with all manner of disgusting junk food and two beers.

Rose sipped her beer and wrinkled her nose. “After that pub in Oregon, I thought maybe American beer had gotten a bad rap. Now I see I was mistaken.” The Doctor made a garbled sound of agreement around a mouthful of hot dog.

Finally, the game came to an end and Rose stood up, grateful it was over. As she started to file out after the Doctor, Marty tapped her arm.

“See ya, Rose. Have a great trip.”

“Thanks.” She realized belatedly that she hadn’t asked him anything about himself that she could reply in kind with, so she just waved and then turned away.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow as he took her hand, following the flow of the crowd. “Made a friend, did we?”

She shrugged. “We chatted a bit while you were buying food. Jealous, are we?”

“No.” He squeezed her hand after a while. “All right, a little. He was a bit pretty, that bloke.”

Rose nudged his arm with her shoulder. “ _You’re_ a bit pretty, remember?”

His proud little sniff was all the answer she needed.

*** 

They drove south.

Staying on Highway 1, they hugged the California coast, and Rose had to admit that the views were some of the most beautiful she’d seen in a long time. She rolled down the window of their rental car and put her arm out the window, feeling the pressure of the air rushing by against her hand. The Doctor drove, one elbow propped on his own open window and the other arm stiff against the steering wheel, pushing himself back against the seat. He sang along to the music on the radio, driving too fast and shooting her the occasional lecherous grin.

They stopped in Monterey, made their way to the first hotel that looked interesting and checked in. Luggage was hauled into the room and as the door clicked closed they were on each other, all sloppy kisses and inefficient tugging at each others’ clothes. 

Less than an hour later they were sitting in a restaurant, and Rose felt like there was something vaguely naughty about being out in public so soon after having sex. Something about sitting in a room full of people, still a little buzzed from her orgasm, the sensation of his cock in her mouth and the sound of his helpless groans all still fresh in her mind – she smiled into her drink, a blush stealing over her face. Her train of thought made the familiar voice that much more surprising, like a bucket of cold water over her head.

He heard it at the same time she did; the Doctor’s back stiffened and his eyes grew impossibly wide.

“Richard, you ridiculous man! Stop it.” The woman’s voice was lilting and full of laughter.

“I’m not the ridiculous one, Sarah Jane.”

Rose made no attempt to be subtle; she turned around and stared at the table next to them. Two people in their twenties – a man and a woman, rolling their eyes at their parents, a distinguished man with the look of someone accustomed to wearing suits but being forced to dress down while on holiday, and a woman. Her hair and clothes were more conservative than those of the version Rose knew, but there was no mistaking Sarah Jane Smith.

Or rather, Sarah Jane Something-else, Rose thought as she took in the idyllic family tableau. In the absence of the Doctor, this woman’s life had obviously followed a different path.

She and the Doctor listened in silence to the adjacent table for a while. Finally Rose murmured, “We should introduce ourselves.”

“Under what pretense?” 

She shrugged. “Under the pretense that we’re British and on foreign soil. That’s the only pretense you need in this sort of situation.”

He shook his head. “I don’t …”

“What?”

Any answer was interrupted by cheers of ‘Happy Birthday’ from the other table. Sarah Jane blushed and covered her face as she was presented with a piece of cake with a flaming candle by their waitress. 

Rose couldn’t resist any longer. Once the birthday fracas had died down, she leaned over toward them and raised her voice. “Nice to hear a familiar accent while we’re here. Makes it seem a little like home,” she said with a wide smile.

The husband, Richard, looked over at her. “Oh, hello! Yes, indeed. You and your husband on holiday?” 

“Yes,” Rose replied, not bothering to correct him on ‘husband.’ “You?”

“Birthday present for me,” said Sarah Jane. “My husband actually convinced our younger children to travel with us,” she said, smiling her kids, “which was a miracle, I have to say.”

“Like we’d pass up a free trip to California,” the young man remarked.

“Younger children,” Rose asked. “You have others?”

“Two others,” Sarah Jane said, “but they have children of their own. Busy lives.”

“You don’t look like you could possibly be old enough to be a grandmother,” Rose said.

Sarah Jane thanked her and the conversation trailed off. Their dessert eaten, the family soon left the restaurant with friendly waves for Rose and the Doctor.

Rose watched the Doctor’s face, at a loss for what he was thinking. “You were awfully quiet. I thought you’d at least talk to her.”

“She’s happy.”

“Seems so.” Rose took a bite of her meal.

“I ruined her life.”

“ _What?_ ”

He ran a hand through his hair. “The other Sarah Jane, I ruined her life. If I hadn’t taken her away from Earth, she could have had a husband, a family.”

“Who’s to say that’s what she would have preferred, given all the information and the ability to choose? And anyway, your Sarah Jane seems to have acquired a family of sorts later in life. So really—”

“I was so arrogant. Taking you all off to see the stars, no regard for what I might’ve been taking you away _from_ , either in the present or in the future.”

“Doctor, people make choices all the time that have unexpected consequences for the path their life is going to take. And yes, you’ve impacted people’s lives. But I’ve got to think that on balance, it’s been for the better.”

“I’m surprised to hear _you_ say that, after everything you went through.” 

“You can’t possibly think I would trade all the heartache away, if it meant that I never met you. If it meant that I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now. You can’t _possibly_ think that.” She set her fork down, her appetite gone.

He studied her face for a beat. “No, course not,” the Doctor said. He reached out and squeezed her hand under the table, smiling a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.


End file.
